


Open Mouth, Insert Foot

by Morgana



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander has a special talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Grunts, groans, and low exclamations of need and desire filled the crypt, lingering in the still afternoon air. The bed downstairs creaked wildly, the headboard banging into the wall with an unmistakable rhythm, each hard thrust giving rise to more animal sounds and harsh exclamations.

“Ohhhh, fuck, yeah! Right there - Christ, yeah!”

“Fuck, feels so good... gonna - ungh, gonna come... shit!”

Guttural moans echoed off the walls before the sounds of frantic need tapered off, giving way to a satisfied silence. The lovers collapsed in a heap of tired limbs, both panting softly. Candlelight gleamed off sweat-covered skin,

Dark eyes drifted over a muscled expanse of pale skin, echoes of desire still visible in their depths. The bed creaked as he turned over and stretched a hand out to caress the swell of his lover's ass. “Jesus, I just can't get over how tight you are. Is that some kind of vampire thing, going back to the same way you were when you were turned, or something?”

Spike chuckled. “Hardly, mate. Not like I've been lettin' every bloke that even thought he fancied me take me to -” He broke off when he caught sight of Xander's face. “Shit, you really thought that, didn't you?”

“No!” Xander denied quickly. “At least, not everyone.”

“Who, then?” Spike's voice was quiet, but there was an almost infinite potential for disaster in those level tones. Somehow the usual lazy aftermath had turned into a minefield, one with all the mines still very, very active.

“Well... Angel?” When Spike's eyes widened, Xander hurried to appease him. “Not with the soul, but you and Angelus...”

“Angelus?!” There was no mistaking the outrage in the vampire's tone.

“Well, he _was_ your sire,” Xander offered in his own defense, but the angry glitter in Spike's eyes told him that probably hadn't been the best thing to say.

“Damn right, he was! An' d'you know what that makes him, Harris?” Uh-oh, last name. That was never good. “That makes him my soddin' _father_. Do _you_ wanna be buggered by your da' on a regular basis?”

“Ewww! Spike, that's gross!”

“Yeah, well, so's your assumption that I whored myself out to every Tom, Dick, an' Angelus,” the vampire spat. His eyes, usually a deep blue after the kind of satisfying sex they'd both enjoyed, were now like chips of ice, cold and flinty. “Get out.”

Xander swallowed, and held a hand out to try and beckon him back to bed. “Hey, I didn't mean -”

Spike ignored the gesture in favor of yanking his pants on. He scooped Xander's underwear up from the floor and threw it at him. “Know perfectly well what you meant, Harris. Said get out an' I meant it.”

The stiff set of his shoulders warned him not to argue, so Xander slowly started to get dressed. He glanced at Spike once he was fully clothed again, but he still wouldn't look at him. “I really am sorry,” he offered quietly, just before he turned to go.

Spike's reply followed him up the ladder, the calm tones sending a shiver down his spine. “Not half as sorry as you will be, mate.”


End file.
